


and, oh, we thought we had forever

by coppertears



Series: these days [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, broken relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 05:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11224548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppertears/pseuds/coppertears
Summary: some days, he finds it difficult to not touch.





	and, oh, we thought we had forever

some days, he finds it difficult to not touch.

it always takes a moment. to remember, to curl the tips of his fingers in until the blunt circles of his nails dig hard enough to leave indentations in his palm, to take a breath that shudders all the way down to his spine. to be reminded. it takes a moment, and then a blink. and--gone. as though the impulse needs just the abortion of a motion to be forgotten. so easily buried, that.

back stage, when all the world seems to swirl, hard focus, he throws his head back and stares up at the exposed wooden beams. it helps. not that much, but still. in his head he can still hear the words, 3:59AM winding down to what he still wishes had been nothing. quiet. still. if he pulls his heart in it almost feels like a single thing hadn't been said, way back when. 

he knows it's not true, of course. knows it when the words echo at every flash of a hand or a pale neck or back, swimming into view because after all these years, he can't unlearn the looking. he can't undo the time he's spent just searching for those fleeting glimpses, that curl of the lip, the moles hidden to anyone who hasn't gone hunting. how did it go again? _this isn't going to work out, you know_. he whispers that into the mirror. at the brush of elbows: _i love you, but this is my dream. isn't this yours, too_?

this isn't about dreams, he wants to say. this is about futures. this is about hearts, desires. this is one in the morning, him climbing into another bed, and the soft fall of the sheets between, in counterpoint to the thud in his chest and the thrum in his veins because he has this, he can have _this_. this is the spotlight but him still seeking the shadows, for the form he's mapped out for years but only traversed for far fewer, for far shorter a time. this is the breaks between rehearsals, schedules, and that mad, manic pace, when they duck into storage closets or bathrooms under repair or fire escapes, sometimes stealing kisses, sometimes greedy for more than that. before this, touch has been an aversion to him; something he can't quite commit to. with _him_ , he has grown used to it as a currency.

but even precious metals lose their value. empires fall, and with them, wealth and memory and what has been built so doggedly by legions of honor-craving men. crumbling, like the corner of the naked stage before it comes alive with screens and lights and smoke machines, and thousands of adoring fans.

like relationships. like the paper ships he used to sail down the creek, certain they would last, until they don't--the water flooding in, the paper turning to mush, and the ship sinking down to rest among pebbles and other debris. he wonders if they'd even had foundations upon which to lay their love to rest. he isn't quite so certain.

the words still echo, though his surroundings are a blur of preparations and ear pieces being handed out, stage cues slotting into place. but he remembers the silence, and he remembers it in the roof of his mouth, in the weight on his tongue. the words had been said; the speaker had left. 

and jongin still does not say a thing. 

"it's not about dreams," he whispers to himself, now, eyes on him still--because he has spent half of his lifetime looking, and he cannot bear to stop now, this homing in without its destination ever noticing. he doesn't want to stop. it feels like it's the only pillar that's left of what had once been in his hands. "it's about us."

"you okay, jongin?" someone beside him says, and he looks up to see chanyeol with his eyebrows creased.

jongin lets himself smile, lets his mouth dip a little before opening up again. "yeah, i'm fine."

the timer counts down. the stage cues pour out, everyone falling into place. and just in front of him, the pale neck twists, moles a constellation he once skimmed his lips against, and kyungsoo looks back at him to shoot him a smile he'd once thought he'd have forever.

yes--some days, jongin finds it difficult to not touch his ex-lover. it is the lesson that kills.

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! forgot my password, and got buried in life a bit, but now I'm out of the rubble and will be posting the remaining erf pieces (sequels or completion of fics or the unpublished ones) and a couple others I've been working on in the coming days. let's keep breaking hearts and putting them back together, a little askew.


End file.
